


Space Song

by bliztoise



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Death, Loss of Parent(s), Parent Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 11:03:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12107331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bliztoise/pseuds/bliztoise
Summary: Hux has daddy issues and so do I.





	Space Song

**Author's Note:**

> the bolded italic words at the beginning of each section are lyrics from the song space song by beach house. also, hence the title

**_It was late at night, you’d held on tight._ **

 

Hux woke up with your arms wrapped tightly around him. He’d dismissed it as cuddling until he heard you sniffle. His eyes opened slowly, but his mind started hurtling forward.He turned around, his own arms enveloping you immediately. All he did was rub the back of your neck with his thumb as you cried, pressing kisses to the crown of your head. 

He wracked his brain to figure out why you were crying until he remembered. Your mother had called you earlier today, to tell you your father had died. Complications from a surgery, she had said. There was a chance he wasn’t supposed to make it. _ He was in terrible health anyway. _

_ “I don’t care,” You had said, tossing your phone back onto the bed. You went to straddle Hux once again, but he stopped you. _

_ “Darling, your father just died. I know you don’t favor him, but don’t you think you need some time?” _

_ “I’m fine, ‘Tidge, I swear. He was an asshole anyway. I hope he rots. Now come on, let’s fuck and order Chinese food.” You climbed back onto him. _

He knew you needed time. Now all he could do is rub your back as you cried into his chest.

* * *

 

**_Somewhere in these eyes, I’m on your side._ **

 

For all intents and purposes, you were fine. It was like that night had never happened. You go to work, hang out with friends, and come home every night to Hux, ready to watch some television and then go to bed. Ready to start it all again the next day.

For the first two weeks Hux handles you carefully. He doesn’t know if you’re going to cry, scream, break down,  _ something _ . In all honestly, he needs you to. Crying just once isn’t enough, he thinks. But you keep insisting you’re fine. Your father was terrible to you, why should you care? He’s not going to bother you anymore, you keep telling him. 

Hux just nods along to your words. He knows you’re going to crack. He won’t push you to it.

* * *

 

**_Tender is the night, for a broken heart._ **

 

He’s coming back from work, late, when it finally happens. He’s putting his coat up on the rack in the hallway, when he hears a crackling sob. Frowning, he follows the sounds until he’s in the kitchen, where you are.

On the floor.

Millicent is curled up on your thigh, laying with her head facing you. You’re laying flat on the floor, a couple of broken bottles smashed against the cabinets and refrigerator, ugly, wrenching sobs coming from your chest. Hux doesn’t know what to do. You’re much too fragile like this. Yes, this is what you needed, but now that it was here, he didn’t know whether to hold you or...what?

“He never cared about me.” Your voice is rough, making him wonder just how long you were on the floor for. “He abused me, for  _ years _ . He used me as a bargaining chip with my mom. If he was on  _ my _ good side, then surely my mom would give him another chance, right? Never mind the nights I woke up and my mom was in the bathroom, their current fight in a stalemate. He abused us and he didn’t care. I was  _ so glad _ to cut him out of my life. Why am I crying for him? Am I an idiot? I haven’t spoken to him since I was twelve or thirteen. I couldn’t wait until he died, ‘Tidge. I used to think he was the worst part about me. His DNA is everything bad in me,” You ramble. You take another swig from a bottle he didn’t notice laying a foot away from you, the bottle mostly empty.

Once those words leave your lips, he finally steps forward. He picks your torso up off the floor and slides himself down, making your back lean on his chest, holding you up, splaying his legs out to accommodate yours. He gently takes the bottle out of your hands, lightly rolling it away. Millicent jumps off of your lap to go after it.

“Now,” He says, deathly quiet. “That you’ve finally worked out your feelings, albeit a little violently and honestly, a little worringly, I’m going to say this to you: You are  _ not  _ your father. You are nothing like him. You’ve told me everything about him and you are far greater than he will ever be. He will rot in hell for the rest of eternity.  _ Where he belongs _ . You deserve no amount of anguish that man has ever given you. You’re allowed to feel sad at his passing, yes, it’s only natural. But, I do not want to hear you utter anything about being like him. If I were his doctor, I would’ve botched that surgery on _ purpose _ . No scum like that deserves to waste everyone’s time and energy.”

Tears are still slipping down your cheeks, but you whisper a small ‘thank you’ to him and bring his arms around you, holding them tightly.

* * *

 

**_Fall back into place, fall back into place._ **

 

Eventually, after a couple of weeks, Hux believes that you finally are able to move on. He comes home to you crying a couple more times, but never as bad as that first time. You take a week off of work and go on a small trip with him. He offers to take you to the grave, but you decline.

“I’m really done, ‘Tidge. I don’t need it.”

Now it’s only once a year, around the anniversary that you backslide a little. Which is fine. It’s healthy to cry over it, he thinks. You might not ever be truly _ over _ it, over it. But you’re slowly falling back into place. 

**Author's Note:**

> i feel like the lyrics at the start of each section is cheesy but sue me. some kudos are greatly appreciated, if you'd feel so inclined.


End file.
